


By the Book

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Challenge: The Pet Peeve Challenge, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 05:42:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/794523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair has a bad day at the library, and he's not the only one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	By the Book

By the Book, by Brenda Antrim. A Sentinel story, rated G, answering the Pet Peeve challenge, dedicated to all the librarians in slashdom. 

Not much happens in this one, but it sure made _me_ feel better. 

_(I can't believe I wrote a Librarian-Sue story ...)_

## By the Book

by Brenda Antrim  


He should have known it was going to be one of those days when the battery on his laptop died, not with a bang, but with a whimper. The three books he most needed to finish the current section of his dissertation were only available in reference, and the copiers were on strike. The documents he'd gotten faxed through the interlibrary loan office were blurry, and not even Jim's Sentinel vision could make sense of the bleary streaks that were supposed to be sentences. The response time for the online public access catalog was measured in minutes, not seconds, with the number of users logged on way exceeding the capacity of the trunk line, and to put icing on his own particular version of library hell cake, the single sole solitary study room that actually had a working heater was currently being used by a troglodyte who had apparently put down roots and wasn't going to be leaving in this lifetime. 

Blair Sandburg was having a truly awful day. 

Staring blankly at the slightly fuzzy screen in front of him, wondering when, if ever, the University Libraries were EVER going to upgrade their public use PCs, he sighed. Deeply. It was on days like this that he wished he had swallowed his pride and just let Jim buy him that top of the line Pentium the big guy had offered when they first became lovers. But it had felt too much like Kept Man Syndrome at the time. Muttering under his breath as he began to type, he spared a bare moment to wonder just why the concept of kept man was such a bad thing _   
  


* * *

I couldn't help but stare. It had been such a shitty day. The Trustees had decided to make an unscheduled visit, complaining about everything from my clothing (hey, I was mucking about in the archives all blasted morning -- what was I supposed to wear, Gucci?) to the state of the bathrooms (I've been telling them we need more supplies, but when the Head Man has to wipe his hands on his slacks because there's no paper towels, maybe they'll listen, hmm?). The copiers were busted, and the repairmen 'just couldn't make it all the way out there' until tomorrow morning _ earliest. So, where is the U? Antarctica? And MAYBE tomorrow morning? For this we pay a maintenance contract? Not to mention the microfilm machine wouldn't focus, and the Internet stations keep crashing, and the printers on the public PCs keep jamming, and the OPAC terminals are moving at the rate of snails on opium _ 

And then Mr. Sandburg walked in. While waiting for a student to decide which country she really wanted to do her civil rights violations report on (Madagascar? When did this become a hotspot for Amnesty International? Wonder if she ever heard of China?) I watched him. He has always been one of my favorites. Never any trouble, always a smile for the poor harassed librarian behind the reference desk _ well, except for the ILL books that somehow end up in the Sound, or burned up in exploding buildings (say WHAT? had been my reaction to that one). Looked like he was having the same sort of day I was. His laptop wouldn't work, the copier ate his card, and the only free PC was the one that kept whonking out on us. I wandered over, deftly avoiding The Dirty Old Man that kept trying to ask me out no matter how many times I'd told him I simply wasn't interested. What was it with librarians and stalkers, anyway? This one had actually patted my butt before I told him if he did it again I'd hand him his head. Shaking off the unpleasant thought, I smiled at the anthropology student staring glassily at the screen. He smiled absently back, then scowled again, and bent over the keyboard, muttering as he went. 

Kept man? My. Now that sounded interesting. Before I could sidle any closer and engage in a bout of shameless eavesdropping, a slight ruckus rose in the far corner where the individual study rooms were clustered. My radar went up and I headed that direction with deceptive calm. A hulking behemoth had moved in earlier that day and settled in for the winter, apparently, and I had a nasty suspicion someone had objected. 

They never told me in library school that I'd have to be a diplomat, acrobat and bouncer along with an information scientist and computer technician. 

To my well hidden delight, Young Mr. Sandburg got up and followed me. He wasn't very tall, but he was solidly built (who could miss those shoulders? And those *thighs*?) and I might need a bit of help with the Manmountain back there _   
  


* * *

One of the librarians, a red head who'd helped him out at the reference desk in the past and was always very friendly, had been on her way to help him when she suddenly veered off to the right. There was an expression on her face that reminded him a lot of the intent look that Jim got when he sighted, or heard, or scented something strange. The thought struck that she might have some sort of Sentinel ability, reacting to something he couldn't sense, and he instinctively got up to follow her. See what it was that had caught her attention, and how it had done so without his noticing. As they got nearer to the study rooms, he heard the same thing she had. The troll was getting abusive with another student, barking at him, upsetting some of the other people in that corner of the library. He was intrigued. How had she known something was going on here? Before he could frame the question, he felt a presence behind him, and glanced over his shoulder to see his lover hovering protectively behind him, ice blue eyes intent on the scene in front of them. 

"Hey, babe," he near whispered, for Sentinel ears only. A warm hand descended on his back, rubbing lightly, a tactile greeting that expressed everything neither could say out loud in public. He leaned against the broad shoulder and waited, ready to provide backup if the librarian needed it. It didn't look like she did. Whatever she'd said to the troll had gotten him moving, thankfully before he started eating any of the covers of the reference books scattered all over the table in front of him. Green eyes followed the grumbling man as he left the small room, and for an instant Blair saw past the professional front to the utter disgust in their depths. 

He caught her eye and quirked a brow in query. Silently, the woman held up a large, old but well maintained book on Renaissance painters. The spine seemed to be laying oddly, and he realized that someone (the troll?) had razored out several of the pages. Blue eyes met green in complete sympathy and a shared wish to beat the snot out of the cretin who had so wantonly destroyed the book. 

"Bastard," slipped out before he could stop himself. With a small nod, she agreed silently, then bent to gather the reference books. Blair and Jim both moved forward to help her. 

"Thanks, guys," she said softly as they piled the books on a cart. "I appreciate it." 

"Happy to help," Jim replied before Blair could. Blair smiled his agreement. "Do you think he'll cause any trouble? He didn't look too happy to be kicked out." 

A surprisingly fierce smile covered the librarian's face. "I know what his fines are. And I can pull his access. He's on the football team -- if he doesn't keep his average up he can't play, and without access to the collection he can't do what homework he *does* do. Besides," she winked at them, "I tutor the coach's daughter in English. Coach knows better than to piss me off!" 

The last was said very quietly, and both men laughed. With a final nod of thanks, she pushed the cart away and softly closed the study room door. 

Blair looked from the table, to Jim, then back to the table. "You know, big guy, these rooms are nearly soundproof _ at least enough for a couple being pretty quiet _ and I've had a really bad day _ could really use some positive reinforcement _ so not into work right at the moment-" 

He was flat on his back on the solid wooden table with his mouth full of Jim's tongue before the echo of the suggestive murmur died away in the small room.   
  


* * *

I sorted the ref books right there in front of the study rooms. The pages had enough on their hands already, with the cutbacks in student work funds, and besides _ I knew who the big hunk was. Carefully putting the books in order, I listened. Mmm-hm. There was that rhythmic creak. I knew it well. 

As I pushed the cart back to the ref desk and dove in to the patrons lined up three deep wanting everything from polar bears to Poe, I found myself smiling. At least someone was having a good day.   
  


* * *

Send comments to the author at bantrim@pe.net .  
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